A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  He found tools and began sawing through the lock, until after an apparent infinity of work the steel parted. He wiped his brow and opened the door cautiously. It had fitted well and only a faint haze of dust lay on the floor inside. Opposite, sitting upright in a steel chair, was an old man with golden hair and a combed beard. He was dressed in thick brown material; his face and eyes expressed pleasure and he stood up, stepping forward so that his feet rang on the steel floor.

  “Do not feel lonely, Master,” he said. “The Sleepers live, and therefore you are not the last of men. Let me talk, for I am wise.”

  The boy started back, remembering the woman, and terror, very real but with its cause incomprehensible, flooded through him. The old man followed him through the door, walking rhythmically. The boy saw that one knee of his garment was crumbled away to fragmented fibre through some touch of damp or mould.

  “I will talk, Master,” the voice promised, following. “I will talk of the past, when the Earth was quick with living things or of the present, when the worst days are upon us, or of the future, when the Sleepers arise.”

  Still he approached, and the boy halted, quivering. “Stay where you are!”

  “As you wish, Master.” He halted, the voice unchanged. “Do not despair; remember only that the Sleepers must be guarded. All else is nothing. Be tranquil, Master. Talk with me, or order, that I may fulfil.”

  The boy stared at the metal joint visible through the torn garment, and at the radiant face.

  “Tell me of the Sleepers,” he whispered.

  The old man beamed. “Little to tell, Master. They will arise full of wonder, but your sons are among them, each in his turn to guard them, keeping his secret until the last library is opened, and treating as a son each brother who comes next. In them lies salvation for men.”

  The boy’s thoughts spun as down a precipice and a hundred tiny memories which had meant little came back. The old man’s loving care; the similarity of eyes and features; the myriad controls in a small room at which he looked each day, sometimes making infinitesimal adjustments. Once, when very tiny, before such things had become so familiar that he disregarded them, the boy had questioned him. “I work that the Sleepers rest long and soundly,” the old man had said, his eyes grave. The boy shivered, remembering the bunks where the sheets lay in unclean ruin.

  “The Sleepers cannot sleep—untended?” he breathed.

  The face before him beamed. “Not with safety, Master. But they are cared for, until the Awakening. Be easy, Master.”

  “How long have you sat there?” the boy whispered.

  “Merely moments, Master. For me, all eternity is an instant. I do not grow old, nor, resting, do I eat. Even you, Master, once said I was as our terrible enemy, who can wait while men grow old and die.” He beamed, and the boy felt sick at heart. “While the Sleepers are safe we need not fear our enemy,” the voice droned on. “ ‘Protect them, my sons,’ you prayed. ‘Upon them shall depend all that is to be of man, and whether he become but a word now never spoken on an empty Earth’.”

  Protect them! the boy thought. He sprang down the steps and began to run across the undulated dusty earth. Only when he was on a hilltop did he realise how vain his search must be, for no footsteps remained. The dust-storms might have obliterated the tiny tunnel entrance, which could be anywhere on the convoluted hillsides, where the dunes seemed to march from dawn until night, and where little waves stood in irregular corrugations, breathing from their peaks tiny wisps of brown powder.

  He searched until nightfall without finding the tunnel, then sat down upon the dry, dusty earth and wept.

  He awoke to find the old face, a beaming mask in the moonlight, bending low over him.

  “Master, one of the terrible enemy is coming.”

  The boy rose, listening. Far away sounded a mighty scraping like a giant dragging his feet on iron.

  “There is—danger?” he asked, scarcely breathing.

  “Death, Master.” The old face beamed at him. “Come away. We must hide.”

  “I cannot find my way to the Sleepers.”

  “No one knows it, Master, so that, not knowing, they cannot betray. Only you live here. If there were other men they would not know, for they might be tortured and free their secret. There are no records, for the enemy might discover them. Even when you made me you did not tell me where the entrance was.”

  The boy looked at him, frowning. “You mistake me for someone else!”

  The old man teetered on his feet as if not understanding. “Come away,” he said, and began to retreat towards the dome. The boy watched him, but when he reached the moonlit top of the rise his rhythmic steps faltered. For a full minute he stood motionless, face beaming, stiff as a pole, then abruptly folded like hinged levers into a heap. The merest line of thin smoke began slowly to ascend.

  The boy listened to the dull scraping, approaching up over the hill beyond the toppled form. A huge hump showed, with long arms like bat’s wings with no membrane folded each side. One arm reached out, rolling the still form over like a child’s toy. The arm withdrew; the hump slewed, rising over the hill.

  With a vigour born of complete fear the boy began to wriggle down into the dusty earth until he was almost concealed, a mere elongated hillock amid the many vales and ridges of blown soil. Head strained frantically sideways, he watched.

  The shape came over the hill and the earth shook. On its back two saucers wide as the boy could have spanned with outstretched arms swayed slowly as if endeavouring to locate anything that moved upon the hills. The sides of the object were low upon the ground, concealed caterpillar tracks churning up a thin wake of floating brown motes as it came down the hillside. The boy scarcely breathed, seeing that if it did not change its course it would come directly upon him. Gaining speed, it seemed to fill all the sky and purred gently; was gigantically wide and awesomely huge, and at the last moment the boy started up from his hiding place, his limbs trembling as if already crushed. Crying as he ran, he sprang up the hillside, looking back often.

  The gigantic saucers rotated slowly, oscillated, and faced him. The shape slewed, flinging soil high, following and gaining momentum, its bat arms extended, casting long, grotesque shadows. He ran on, stumbling, panting, changing his direction often, his heart pounding and his hands outflung like those of a person in a nightmare. Soon he lost all idea of direction; there was only the curving hillside, the loose soil silvery in the moonlight, and the following enormity, always nearer, its saucers following every movement. He scrambled up a steep incline where the rock had been swept bare, paused on the top, lungs heaving, and looked back.

  The thing came on, treads flinging rubble high, inner machinery snarling. The boy screamed, turned, slipped, and found himself in a narrow rocky cleft. Thunderous sound came up the incline and a dark shape halted above. A jointed arm moved and one saucer projected over the side of the cleft, moving in a searching scanning sequence. Sobbing, he heaved himself under the thing and to its rear on hands and knees, reeled to his feet, hesitated, and sprang, lying flat on its back trembling.

  The surface was completely cold and his trembling subsided as the vehicle moved slowly twice along the full length of the cleft, one saucer projecting over the edge. Then both saucers rotated slowly in synchrony, scanning all the hills. For a long time came only a low whirring, then the machine turned down the incline, retreating, and he knew for the moment he was undiscovered.

  As they rolled forwards, rising and falling to the dunes, he began to search the back on which he rode with his eyes and fingers, every movement infinitely cautious. There was a trapdoor; his fingers found fastenings and with a start he realised they were of a type which could only be operated from the outside. He wondered what that meant, then slowly began to work them loose. When both were undone he gathered his muscles so that he could fling back the trap and enter with one movement, and shot down feet first, toes kicking until they met a ladder, where he clung, drawing the trap shut. The machine
had not halted. He spun round; found that the interior was illuminated weakly and deserted. A narrow footway stretched from the ladder. He passed between panels of unknown purpose, and came to the end. There were no seats; no places of any kind where any man or creature could sit or rest, to operate the machine. There was only the narrow way and ladder, and, each side, masses of apparatus. Abruptly he realised the machine was empty because it had never been intended that any man or creature should ride in it.

  Momentarily stilled with wonder, he clung to the ladder, his body swaying to the motion, his ears filled with the drone of the motor and the intermittent sounds coming from unseen controlling mechanisms.

  Eventually motion ceased. He mounted the ladder and peered through a narrow horizontal slit made by slightly opening the trap. Vehicles of vast size and great diversity of form almost surrounded him, some built as huge containers, others armoured, with strange weapons projecting from their sides, and from rotating turrets upon their backs, where, on each, a metal rod stood. Some resembled that in which he was hidden, and yet others were fitted with tubes with fine nozzles. All lay still in ranks and he saw that many vacant spaces existed in the lines, and that some vehicles were rusted and clearly inoperative. One container was corroded to a shell. Dark fluid had run from it, eating a fissure in the vehicle’s side and staining the earth for many yards around. Far ahead was a spidery tower topped by aerials.

  He looked the other way and saw he was at the edge of the concourse of machines, noting that except for a faint humming the one in which he was hidden had ceased activity. The saucer scanners faced the distant tower as if awaiting some signal. He lifted the hatch and wriggled out, lying on the cold steel. Nothing happened and he slithered to a tiny platform, and from there to the earth, pressing his body flat against the back of the machine. He stood for long minutes, only his eyes moving, and noted that twenty paces away a dip ran obliquely up across the hills. Satisfied, he sprang forwards.

  In the shadow, sheltering trough he hugged the brown dust, listening. No sound of wheels whirring in pursuit came and he began to scramble along, keeping the earthen rampart between himself and the machines. Only when he had laboriously ascended and crossed the first low hills did he rise to his feet.

  Brown dunes lay ahead, and judging this the direction he walked on quickly, often looking back and listening. When two ridges of hills were behind him he sat down to rest and eat a little food from his pack. The brown dust had filled his boots; he emptied them and surveyed the dunes critically. The dust was fine, dry and powdery; only where the wind had removed it was rock revealed. His feet tingled and the dust seemed poisoned and sour, as if blended with noxious chemical traces. When his food was gone he would starve, he thought sadly.

  He halted at the next hilltop, ears straining. Far ahead was a voice, upraised, yet unintelligible from distance. He ran towards it, feet sinking with each step, and passed over a ridge. Ahead was a shiny object flat on its back and babbling at the unheeding sky. He slowed, disappointed.

  The beaming face gazed up; one metal leg did not move, but the other bent and stretched, scuffing a deep furrow.

  “Do not be lonely, Master, though on all the earth are only the fighting machines made to battle against men. Remember you have caused the Sleepers to lie at rest until our enemy has rusted into nothing and have sacrificed your sons to guard them. You are not responsible for this sterility. You did not want poison sprayers, nor individual-seekers to terrorise our enemy.”

  “You mean my father,” the boy said, but the face still beamed and the boot scuffed as if some interior fault prevented comprehension.

  “The day will come, Master, when the son who is blond like you, among all the sons who were dark as their mother, shall grow to manhood, and the Sleepers awake, and return upon the earth, bringing grain and the animals which sleep with them.”

  The boy touched his head, knowing it blond. Abruptly the figure began to wail upon a shrill note.

  “Woe if the Sleepers are untended or awake with our enemy still on the earth! Woe if they arise and our enemy has not rusted to dust, for they will be slain. Woe if the mechanisms falter, so that the Sleepers die terribly under the earth!” The words ran faster and faster. The boy sat on the poisoned soil, not listening, but wondering at what he had heard. He gazed at the dome, knowing no one would be visible there. Innumerable seasons had come and gone since his father had inhabited this refuge, apparently spending his whole fife trying to destroy the enemy. At last the wailing grew thin and the smiling form was stilled.

  For two days he sought the tunnel entrance without success. He returned to his sanctuary, examining its scanty contents anew, and finding a book of thin metal pages covered with blue writing. Filled with an odd wonder, he sat down to read.

  “Jan. 9th, 2091. Finished erecting pre-fabricated sections. Dome is immobile, therefore machines will not attack. Stores lamentably insufficient.”

  “Feb. 17th. Machines all day yesterday spraying slopes of hills east. All grass and herbage yellow to-day and trees shedding leaves. Spraying vehicles still working beyond hills.”

  He turned several sheets to a date five years later. “April 2nd. Saw no machines; went to hilltop. All visible terrain yellow. Dust clouds bearing poisoned soil are beginning as summer approaches.”

  “May 29th. Was chased by individual-seeker, but gained dome. Machine halted outside.”

  “June 3rd. Machine still there. Dare not go out. Working on robot to do fight tasks and reduce loneliness.”

  “June 10th. Machine went away. Read all day to robot speech-recorder. Can think of no new means to defeat machines; they retaliate fiercely when attacked. Consider initial plan best. When the Sleepers awake the machines will surely be worn out . . .?”

  The boy shivered involuntarily, leafing through many closely-written pages.

  “Jan. 17th. Air all day filled with poisoned dust. Assume little vegetation anywhere exists to retain moisture and soil. Remember self-motivated poison-sprayers were sent into all four major areas of war. Substance used enormously potent.”

  “Feb. 5th. Wish I had not stayed here alone. Always remember it was Feb. 5th Committee decided machines should have no radio-control so that enemy could not jam signals or gain control when machines were near.”

  “Aug. 6th. This was day first fighting machines returned, and could not be controlled because our transmitter had been bombed. Remember panic and own people running through streets, though so long ago . . .”

  The boy saw he was nearly twenty years from the date of the first entry.

  “Dec. 25th. Had Mobo read to me all day. Very tired. Fear illness. Viki completed. She works well.”

  “June 2nd. Went to hilltop overlooking marshalling point of machines. Radio tower obviously inactive. Machines return here from each foray in accordance with pre-set controls. Went too near and was chased by individual-seeker. Its one track was faulty and it could not maintain straight course. But must be more careful.”

  “July 1st. Wish I could reach radio tower, repair it and radiate signal halting machines activity. Machines pre-set to respond to signals from no other locality. The Committee’s safeguards to prevent enemy gaining control of our fighting machines too complete and damnable I”

  “July 7th. Dust storm arising. May try to reach tower. Committee should never have devoted whole productive capacity to self-controlling war machines, leaving humans defenceless. Hope to transmit code signal halting machines if tower can be repaired.”

  It was the last entry.

  That night a storm exceeding in severity any the boy had seen began; wind drummed on the dome and powdered earth flew in choking clouds. Day was a mere brown half-light and slipped imperceptibly into darkness, when the wind fell, until dawn brought a clearing sky with only puffs of dust dancing across the hills. The silence became oppressive and the boy wished the cherubic robot had not collapsed. He went into the darkened cubicle of the light-bending machine and played with the controls. The sto
rm had created new ridges and up to the farthest range of the apparatus they stretched in arid dunes devoid of living thing or the work of men. He focused upon the marshalling point and saw the machines waiting there still, rank upon rank in thousands. But the radio tower had collapsed in the storm and was half hidden in the dust. As he saw it, a growing hope bom of the last diary note died. He frowned at his father’s photo, immeasurably old, then he walked round the dome, glad the wind had hidden the metal woman, whose one arm had begun to wave unceasingly as if seeking help. Night came, clear and cool, clouds hiding the moon, and he ventured to the top of the nearest hill, listening for the approach of any machine which might destroy him.

  A luminous shape was coming up the slope without sound. An odd, irregular cone, scarcely as large as he, and ghostly. It was approaching smoothly and must pass close; he hesitated, then stepped forward to intercept it. It came nearer, as a phantom cloak, and he reached for it. His hand passed through. Completely without sound, like the projection of a moving picture, it went on in a long, gentle curve, receded down the hill and from sight. He stared after it, eyes wide, wondering if it could have been some figment of his tired mind.

  He sought the dome but could not sleep, remembering the ghostly movement of the object across the hills. Midnight had gone when realisation came with sudden shock. It had been an image of his coat upon the cubicle door of the machine in the cavern! Astounded, bewildered, he tried to reject the knowledge, but at last decided he could not.

  He puzzled until dawn. The machine bent light, he thought. Normally, two-way vision existed over straight paths, but it made the paths parabolic, and the apparent movement of the hanging garment was caused by the scanning motion of the apparatus, which still functioned. The cubicle should be kept in darkness so that the watcher would be unseen, but he had left the door open and light filtered in from the tunnel.